


Apology

by milestogo2



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hyuroi Week, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Post-Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-08-07 11:34:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7713427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milestogo2/pseuds/milestogo2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Roy finally apologizes for the Envy fiasco.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Apology

**Author's Note:**

> Written for tumblr's #HyuroiWeek2016! I'd highly encourage everyone to go check it out!

Roy still can’t see properly. Colors are dulled, edges are blurred, driving is a hazard, reading gives him a headache, and too much light practically blinds him—which is why he's chosen the late evening for this particular event.

Of course, he doesn't really care—just the fact that he can see at all is a miracle that he doesn't deserve. He's even more restless than usual now, and desperate to prove that Marcoh had made the right choice. _Make it worthwhile, make it worthwhile, make it worthwhile,_ over and over and over, an endless ringing in his head.

The sun has just finished setting, and the deep blue of the sky is still streaked with red. The cemetery is almost completely empty, save for a short elderly man several rows down carrying a bouquet of flowers almost bigger than himself. The air is pleasantly cool and almost inexplicably soft. Roy shifts his weight from one foot to the other as he squints to read Hughes’s name on the gravestone in front of him. He doesn't really know why he bothers, since he's been here so often that he could probably find it in his sleep.

He figures that he should just get it over with, and starts talking, somewhat uncomfortably, in a low voice.

“Well… I guess I came here to apologize. For, you know, trying to avenge your death and…failing.” He pauses and lets out a long breath. However skilled Roy may be at negotiation and networking, he's never quite learned how to properly put thoughts like these into words.

“I'm still not… entirely sure which parts you'd want me to apologize for, but I definitely fucked up _somehow,_ I’m sure of that at least, so… I'm sorry. For all of it. I really failed you.” He stops again. This is turning out to be much more difficult than he’d expected. Thoughts flutter and jump around his brain and refuse to form words. He can't focus.

“I would’ve died trying,” he says abruptly. “I swear. If it was only my life on the line, I would never have just walked away. I didn’t even think that I could. Justice meant more to me than _anything._ But Riza’s life… I couldn’t sacrifice that. You understand, right?” He starts chewing on the inside of his cheek, hating every second of the day that is now a fairly repressed memory. 

“And it wouldn't have been the right choice anyways,” he finally admits, “I have to think of the country first and make it to the top, like you said. You get it, right? You wouldn't have wanted that?” Roy pauses and waits again. He's not sure what he's waiting for.

“No, of course not. I don’t know what I was thinking. I don't even know what I'm trying to say.”

“I’m sorry.” And he is. He wants to lay down and close his eyes and never have to walk another step again. He's tired. “I'm sorry.”

He stuffs his hands into his pockets and turns away, dragging his feet a little as he walks. The elderly man a few rows down has already left, and a few starry pinpricks are appearing in the sky. After several steps, Roy slows to a stop and stares blankly at the rows and rows of orderly gray tombstones stretching into the horizon. On impulse, he turns around sharply and strides back to Hughes’s grave.

“And… I guess I also wanted to ask for some advice, just really quickly,” he says hurriedly, “about Riza, mostly, what she said… about if I died…” Roy hates thinking about it, and he hates talking about it even more. He's not sure what he's trying to accomplish.

“I don't…really know what to do? I mean, I can’t even tell what’s right anymore. I just really don’t want to hurt her again, and I’m sure you'd know exactly what to say, so…?” Roy looks imploringly, helplessly, at the gravestone, which does not reply. _And now I'm asking for advice from a plot of dirt._ How pathetic. He almost laughs.

“Sorry,” he says bitterly, “I know you're dead, after all. I should probably leave you to it… and stop bothering you.” Roy gives a little wave before walking away, and weaves his way back through the the rows of graves. He wonders, not for the first time, whether or not there's really an afterlife. He thinks that, even if it did mean spending an eternity in hell, it’d be worth it.


End file.
